


New Year's Day

by LSPrincess



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abstinence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bruce stayed, Coming Out, Don't ask me why, Ed plans too far ahead, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Kiss, Not Canon Compliant, POV Edward Nygma, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Pre-Episode: s05e12 The Beginning, Reminiscing, Season/Series 05, Secret Relationship, Self-Doubt, Virgin Oswald Cobblepot, but also years late, it's kind of soon, kind of, the ending is cheesier than a 7 layer quesadilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSPrincess/pseuds/LSPrincess
Summary: Ed had been planning it for months; a few unwanted guests attending their party weren't going to change that.-...every time Oswald took his hand, every time they sat closer than they needed to, every time they stared at one another across the room for far longer than usual, Ed’s heart would cramp and his head would swim with anxiety over what he knew (if all things went according to plan) would be inevitable.Marriage.





	New Year's Day

_ We could be kings of the world _

_ On top of the nation _

_ It’s a celebration of the moments to come _

_ The city’s on fire _

_ We’re holding up lighters _

_ Raising them higher and we’ve only begun _

_ Take me all the way _

_ Hear me when I say _

_ Let’s kiss the past away _

_ Like New Year’s Day _

Parties, though a wonderful forum for social interaction, had never been Ed’s forte. Perhaps for that exact reason — it involved  _ social interaction, _ something that Ed actively avoided if at all possible. Of course, he’d attended the parties that Oswald had been invited to when he was mayor, but that had felt like something else entirely. It had been his  _ job _ to be there to support Oswald, his  _ duty _ to go to those horrendous gatherings as Oswald’s Chief of Staff and dear, dear friend. It hadn’t really felt like he had a choice.

He supposed that made it easier.

This time, however, Ed’s attendance was not mandated, but instead expressly desired by the Penguin himself, who had spent the better half of an hour trying to convince Ed to join him and the remaining time threatening him. In the end, it worked, though Ed couldn’t be too sure as to  _ how. _

It had been almost eight months since Gotham’s reunification with the mainland, and while that was certainly something to celebrate, the bridges had not yet been restored to their full former glory. The mainland was mostly accessed by boats, ferries, and (if you had the money) helicopters.

Ed and Oswald had remained on the island for the majority of that time, occasionally crossing the water for supplies, good tailoring, or some light bartering. It was in that time and on that island that their relationship had flourished into something Ed could never have imagined it would.

It had started with friendly talks, careful weeks spent remedying their wounded partnership. It had progressed with nightly drinks and talks by the fireplace in Ed’s library, which would soon be reclaimed and restored to fulfill its original purpose. Before that happened, though, it was a rather lovely place owned only by Ed and Oswald, and Ed found he really didn’t need much else than what he’d had before him at that time.

A night initially like any other was when things changed. They’d been drinking, they’d been talking, they’d been laughing, and Ed had been thinking all the while — studying Oswald’s expressions with every laugh and smile Ed coaxed out of him, watching his one good eye twinkle with mirth, his chest tight and breathless from teary-eyed laughter every time Oswald choked on his drink. And when Oswald had leaned back in his seat and turned to smile at Ed, he couldn’t stop himself from bringing their lips together.

Oswald had gasped (Ed would never forget that sound) and Ed had desisted, paralyzed with fear and watching every slight flicker of emotion over Oswald’s face, looking for any sign that he’d overstepped some uncertain boundary.

It had been  _ years _ since Oswald had told Ed he’d loved him, and since then their relationship (however questionable such a title was) had suffered greatly. It was only in recent months that they’d been able to return to a state of familiarity and contentedness, comfortable in one another’s company. Perhaps Ed had ruined that, misread the situation, made a crude assumption about Oswald’s feelings and subsequently made an absolute  _ dick _ of himself. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

But when Ed had pulled back to mutter a shaky and stammering apology, Oswald had grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him again — harder, fiercer, driven by years of internalized and subdued passion and longing, and Ed had felt as if he was going to pass out, spontaneously combust, or come on the spot. None of those were good options, and Ed was still thanking whatever deity that might be listening that none of them had happened.

That had been six months ago in the early days of what was one of the hottest summers Gotham had experienced (Oswald had wanted to complain, but upon learning that the unfortunate climate conditions meant that Ed had to wear fewer layers, he’d shut up rather quickly). Now, it was late December, and Christmas had been one of the loveliest days Ed had had in a very long time. It was spent at the Van Dahl manor (which he and Oswald had returned to via helicopter not two months prior) with an incredible feast, gorgeous decorations, and presents that brought tears to Ed’s eyes. And, of course, it was celebrated with Oswald, who had spent the past months smiling more than Ed had ever seen him. Change had come to Gotham in more ways than one, and Ed would be a bald-faced liar if he said it wasn’t for the better.

Though, the one thing that had changed that Ed did  _ not _ approve of was Oswald’s sudden decision to host a New Year’s party at the mansion. Not only were “New Year’s” and “party” two phrases that left a bitter taste in Ed’s mouth, but Oswald had deemed it appropriate to invite every person in Gotham City Ed would much rather do without: Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Lee Thompkins, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox, and Barbara Kean with baby in tow (because she didn’t trust anyone to watch her, as she told Oswald rather heatedly over the phone). 

It was a hellishly chaotic arrangement of guests, and Ed could not fathom what had possessed the venerable Gotham kingpin to propose such a preposterous affair.

“This is the first winter Gotham’s had since the bridges blew — I think it should be spent with our somewhat-friends that helped fight for it.” That had been Oswald’s only explanation, and it was still not good enough to soothe Ed’s nerves. But, something he’d known long before that fateful night by the fire, was that if Oswald’s mind was made up, not a person on Earth could stop him. So the party was held. And  _ everyone _ was present.

Shockingly, Jim and Lee had been the first to arrive. Ed had strongly expected (and greatly hoped) that the new commissioner’s steel-reinforced moral compass would point him in a different direction and had been admittedly disappointed to learn that wasn’t the case.

Harvey Bullock had been next — always hot on his boss’s heels — accompanied by Lucius Fox, who Ed could allow himself an indulgent smile upon seeing. The double-trouble Barbara crew had arrived not fifteen minutes later, which left only Bruce Wayne and his pseudo-butler bodyguard. Ed had a nagging feeling they wouldn’t show up — New Year’s celebrations with convicted criminals just didn’t seem like their thing — but he was proven well wrong when the doorbell rang and he opened it to find that dignified duo on their doorstep.

With all invited parties present, the festivities had kicked off splendidly, albeit a little slowly: Some light conversation, harmless banter thrown between old friends, and after a couple of hours, the surprise appearance of Selina Kyle, who had helped herself in through a window upstairs and had descended in a frankly gorgeous dress she either stole or received as a gift from their esteemed billionaire guest.

Her arrival was admittedly surprising, though in hindsight, not as surprising as it should have been. And after the initial shock and slight offense (the fault of a gobsmacked Oswald) that had permeated the air dispersed, she was welcomed with (hesitant) open arms.

Lounging against a far wall with a drink in his hand a little over an hour later, Ed was wondering why Bruce hadn’t dragged Selina along himself. Obviously, she hadn’t been formally invited, but surely if the infamous Barbara Kean had been permitted attendance, it wasn’t that irrational to assume that a mere bratty thief would be turned away —  _ especially _ when seen draped on a billionaire’s arm.

Ed followed the young couple with attentive eyes, watching them spin and twirl and move so gracefully across the makeshift dance floor he and Oswald had fashioned by shoving the furniture against walls and into corners. He doubted he’d ever seen that catty miscreant smile as much as she had in the past hour, even laughing when Bruce dared to dip her in front of so many people she always endeavored to intimidate and impress. They were almost sickeningly adorable, he observed with a scoff, tipping his champagne back and taking several sips in breathless succession.

With so few attendees, the only other couple dancing was Jim and Lee, though they spent most of the time giggling amongst themselves about Bruce and Selina. Oswald and Barbara were chatting near the fireplace, and Ed noted with an involuntary smile how Oswald would exaggerate a recoil whenever Barbara tried to get him to hold her daughter.

Lucius, Alfred, and Harvey were gathered near the minibar Oswald had dragged out for easy access, talking about something that Ed couldn’t understand over the music but doubted was as funny as the trio made it out to be.

Since Mr. Fox’s appearance, Ed had been practically shaking in anticipation for an opportunity to pull him aside and ask for advice. It was embarrassing, he knew, to seek the guidance of the  _ second _ smartest man in Gotham, but very rarely did Ed find himself as nervous and dreadfully lost as he was right then.

From the moment he and Oswald had kissed what seemed so long ago, he’d found himself worrying and fretting at every turn — every time Oswald took his hand, every time they sat closer than they needed to, every time they stared at one another across the room for far longer than usual, Ed’s heart would cramp and his head would swim with anxiety over what he knew (if all things went according to plan) would be inevitable.

Marriage.

He hardly had three months worth of relationship experience with all of his past flames put together, not to mention the lack of complete and utter familiarity prior to a relationship with one of them, the  _ mild _ obsession with another, and the less than ideal end to the most recent one. This, what he had with Oswald, was far different than anything he’d ever had before. They knew each other better than they knew themselves, had been the closest of friends  _ years _ before this point, had betrayed each other, tried to  _ kill _ each other, and yet still crawled back to one another, beaten, bloody, afraid, but still willing to  _ trust _ again. That was new to Ed, something he’d only ever had with this one man, and what a lie he’d be telling if he said he knew where to  _ begin _ when dealing with it.

Though, that certainly didn’t stop him from trying. He’d spent days and nights restlessly pacing rooms, scrawling ideas onto paper, sketching wedding venues, doing hours of relentless research until his eyes were bloodshot and his head was swimming.

He’d begun only three months after their first kiss, and on top of his manic planning, added tearful anxiety about whether it was too soon (which it was, he knew,  _ far _ too soon). So he waited, one month and then two, every passing second spent staring at Oswald’s smiling face or dreaming of it.

One month and then two, then three, and the city was frigid, ice frosting the streets and snow falling from the sky and seeming to never stop doing so. Ed had learned very quickly after he and Oswald’s first times living together that the smaller man had very little tolerance for cold temperatures: It hurt his leg, chilled him to the bone, made his fingers and toes and nose numb and, frankly, made him a living nightmare. Despite that, though, he seemed to love the aesthetics of it all. If he could bundle himself up in thick, furry coats and scarves (with several painkillers in his system), he’d even propose that they go for a stroll through the garden or make a quick trip to Gotham to see how those unfortunately accommodated were fairing — feigned concern, of course, but if a facade of sympathy was the one he chose to don that day, Edward could do very little to stop him.

Once all preferences were taken into unannounced account, the decision to propose in the winter hadn’t been that difficult to make, though it remained inexpressibly daunting. The design of the ring turned out to be a fairly more challenging decision, mainly for the reason that Ed was expressly dissatisfied with the range of choices he was given. Ultimately (and after lots of money and a few harmless gun-waving threats), he resorted to designing his own.

Such a decision led to many more restless nights and discarded designs until he had finally settled on one that he knew when looked upon would scream “Oswald Cobblepot” loud enough for all of Gotham to hear: An intricate, winding, sleek black band studded with perfectly colorless diamonds that paved the way to the center, where a polished peacock Tahitian pearl rested in the head of a crown. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was  _ Oswald, _ and Ed knew that much from looking at it and seeing his smiling face in those meticulously planned designs.

That was month four. He had a season, he had a ring, and he had the nerves, which only left a date — specifically  _ when _ was he going to propose? Not Christmas, that was too busy (and in hindsight, he was unbelievably glad he stuck with that decision — it was far too exciting of a day as it was), Oswald’s birthday wasn’t until the summer, and he didn’t celebrate any other monthly holidays except for one.

New Year’s.

When the thought first hit Ed, he wanted to scream in outrage. New Year’s was quite possibly the  _ worst _ holiday he could pick — it was the celebration of a clock reset, another year closer to death, a holiday for lying to oneself about resolutions and a holiday that Ed’s father always spent shit-faced and laughing every time Ed would flinch away from the fireworks. It was a horrible, despicable,  _ useless _ day that Ed had regarded with icy antipathy since his early childhood.

He physically tossed the idea into the wastebasket.

The following night, however, he dug it back out, staring at the scrawled lettering in careful meditation.

Yes, it was a horrible, despicable, useless, negative holiday of lies and drinking and skyline explosions, but it was also a holiday of new beginnings. Of tipsy jubilation. Of noses red from the cold and champagne alike. It was a holiday of standing with a chosen family and watching rainbows of color burst against a midnight sky, popping and crackling and fizzling to sparkling embers like the fire in one’s heart, alight with joy at the prospect of making it another year, of surviving well enough to stand in the otherwise unbearable cold and shout at the top of your aching lungs a happy New Year to all those that fought alongside you.

And Ed needed those memories.

So, New Year’s Eve it was.

Though he most certainly had  _ not _ planned for the extra company. The idea of doing something so terrifyingly intimate as professing his undying love to someone in front of a handful of people he’d very likely tried to kill multiple times in the recent past was positively unappealing, though he refused to let it alter his premeditated course of action — he was still going to propose that night, though admittedly with a few unwelcome pairs of eyes.

He came back to his senses when his champagne flute was rendered disappointingly empty by his inadvertently rapid consumption, which left his nose tingly and his head a little lighter than he would have liked. The thought of getting a refill was almost dangerously tempting, and a cursory glance across the room told him that the loitering party had abandoned the minibar to permit access to the other guests. While the trio’s dispersal was relieving in the sense that Ed could get another drink in peace, it was simultaneously disappointing to know he’d likely missed a chance to speak with Lucius. And with the clock ticking away the hours until midnight, Ed found his suit becoming unbearably stuffy and his glasses fogging and slipping down his nose from the perspiration. All things considered, another drink was probably an unwise decision considering how overheated he already felt, but to Hell with wisdom and celebrate the senses, Ed thought, and he pushed himself away from the wall nevertheless, ready to make a beeline for the bar.

Until he nearly ran headlong into Harvey.

“Jesus, slow down, Nygma! You’re jumpier than a coon dog trying to pass a peach pit,” he chided, pressing his fist against Ed’s chest and guiding him back to the wall.

“Sorry, no—what?—no, I know, I’m just—I was going to get another drink, I didn’t mean to—”

Harvey stopped him with a hand in front of his face, shaking his head as if he simply couldn’t believe Ed’s panicked confusion. “Seriously, what are you smoking? Here,” he said, passing Ed one of the two drinks Ed hadn’t noticed he was holding. “Drink it  _ slowly, _ maybe?”

“Tempting offer,” Ed scoffed with an eye roll before tilting the flute back and downing half of it off the bat; it was still cold, which meant Harvey had just gotten it from the previously unopened bottle still in the ice bucket — and he’d gotten it just for Ed. “Thanks,” he mumbled, eyeing the bubbling liquid and praying the effects would hit him like a train.

“No problem,” Harvey said flatly, scrutinizing Ed with a furrowed brow. “Seriously though, without sugar-coating it, you’re being more of a freak than usual. Any reason?” he asked with a shrug. “Thinking about killing someone?”

“Well, you were certainly a top contender, but you’re in my good graces for now,” Ed said, saluting him with his glass of champagne before taking a slower, smaller sip, eyes flitting nervously left and right in a frantic search for Lucius.

“Didn’t think that was possible,” Harvey huffed, bringing his own glass to his lips for a long swig. The action drew Ed’s attention again, only this time he allowed his eyes to linger on Harvey, scanning his expression and relaxed posture and letting his inebriated brain run a little rampant.

Since the unsavory news of the party had been broken to Ed, he’d been impatiently awaiting Mr. Fox’s arrival — for idle chit-chat, of course, but for his invaluable guidance more than anything else. However, from the beginning, Ed knew there was a small flaw in his plan: Lucius — though the man whose advice would be priceless compared to anyone else’s — was also unfortunately intelligent enough to not take Ed’s inquiries at face value. Ed would expect nothing less from him, especially not when asked “how do you deal with the anxiety of proposing”, but he had been disappointed to learn that the proposal would not be an all-around surprise as he would have liked.

However, standing there with Harvey, watching the aged man drink his champagne as if it were water, another frankly terrible thought entered Ed’s mind.

Yes, Lucius’ input was undeniably superior to any other attendee’s, but in truth, how good of advice could he give on a subject he knew of only hypothetically? Ed had always favored well-versed secondary sources over any dimwitted primary alternatives, but in hindsight, he realized that in following that prejudice, he’d never cared to hear what  _ any _ primary source might have to say. Additionally, most of his past queries could rarely be guided by firsthand experiences, but presently, he had one. And someone that very likely may have (albeit questionable) firsthand experience on the matter.

“Harvey,” Ed began, breaking off to release a huff of skeptical laughter, “this may be a bit of a stretch, but considering your track record with women, I’m assuming you know the anxiety of proposing from at least  _ one _ embarrassing moment in a relationship?”

Harvey glared at him over the rim of his glass, lowering it with a dry chuckle. “Very funny. I actually  _ did _ have a fiancee for a while, thank you very much.”

“For the sake of conversation, I’ll ask what happened,” Ed sighed, leaning back against the wall and taking another calculated sip.

“I appreciate your consideration,” Harvey intoned with a slimy smile. “And it’s simple: she didn’t want me to be a cop, and I couldn’t keep away.”

An unsurprising conclusion, Ed thought, rolling his eyes and raising his eyebrows. “So, how do you deal with it?”

“An uncooperative girl?” Harvey asked with a frown.

“No!” Ed exclaimed too loudly, images of Dougherty’s horrid face flickering in his mind’s eye. “No, the anxiety of proposing. Because I uh…I think what I’m feeling could be likened to it.”

“Unlikely,” Harvey scoffed, “there’s nothin’ quite like it. But, to appease your almighty demented mind,” he said, placing a hand over his heart, “I’ll answer.”

“Thank you  _ kindly,” _ Ed growled, bringing his glass back to his mouth.

“Of course. Not that I’d imagine I’ll be much help to  _ you, _ anyway.” He sighed and ran a hand through his partially groomed hair, tugging one long strand loose and letting it fall in front of his face. “There really isn’t any one way to deal with it, Nygma. It’s whatever works for the individual. For me, hell, I had nothing to lose but an exceptional girl, and I knew that if I loved her and she loved me, she wouldn’t leave me because I popped the question, say, too soon. It would just be postponed, and she’d still have the reassurance that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her in the back of her mind.

“I really think people make proposing way bigger of a deal than it is. Sure, you’re asking someone to spend the rest of their life with you, but if you’ve truly found that person, who cares about a flashy presentation or a ring worth your entire future? Hell, so long as it ain’t a Ring Pop, I’m sure they’ll be happy.

“Now the feeling of it, the anxiety? That’s normal, I’d say — of course it is. I bet there’s a person out there who gets nervous to take their morning shit every day because it’s just the human nature to peer past that taboo curtain into the unknowable future and fret over every possibility. If you’re sure about the person you’re wanting to propose to — if you look at them every morning and they never cease to make you smile — then I don’t really think there’s anything to worry about. Now, I’m sure a lot of this literal mumbo-jumbo isn’t really applicable to your situation, but if you’ve been listening at all, then take away this,” he said, shifting so that he was standing directly in front of Ed. “Whatever you’re worried about, Nygma, if there’s some part of you that’s  _ sure _ it’s the right thing — and I’m really speaking hypothetically with you — then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Ed was silent for a long time, the liquid in his hand chilling his palm and freezing his fingers to the glass. Harvey’s words were…unexpected, uncharacteristic, eerily insightful, and truly…

Pretty damn helpful.

“Thank you, Harvey,” he said at length, the words a foreign taste in his mouth, but utterly true, nonetheless. “You were actually really helpful.”

“I’m not completely useless, Nygma,” Harvey said with what Ed chose to believe was a sincere smile, saluting Ed with his empty glass before sauntering off toward the bar.

Ed looked down one last time at his own drink before tossing it back and letting his eyes settle comfortably on Oswald’s smiling face.

The common expression is, “Time flies by when you’re having fun,” but Ed stood firm in his belief that it moved even faster toward something you were dreading. His supporting evidence being: the clock on the wall whose hands currently stood five minutes to midnight.

The television had been on the whole night for any curious attendees, though it remained muted. Now, the audio had returned, and all of the guests were gathering around it, chatting amongst themselves and laughing about something Ed’s groggy ears couldn’t perceive.

He gently shouldered his way through the small but still entirely too large crowd to get to Oswald’s side, two drinks in hand and one being offered to his partner.

“You’re a doll, Ed,” Oswald said with a charming smile, accepting the drink and promptly taking a sip. “It’s quite a shame, really — I don’t think I spent a full minute with you tonight. Please believe me when I say I regret it wholeheartedly.”

“It’s no trouble, Oswald,” Ed said with a warm smile in return. “We have five minutes to make up for it, now. And besides, I wasn’t completely alone. I actually received some attention from  _ Bullock, _ of all people.”

Oswald’s nose wrinkled in disgust before he leaned in to hiss conspiratorially, “What the hell did he want?”

“Nothing untoward — he knows better than that. Apparently, I was acting ‘more of a freak than usual’, so he brought me a drink.”

“Was it drugged?” Oswald asked with comically wide eyes.

“I highly doubt it,” Ed said with a soft chuckle. “The effects of most soluble narcotics or toxins would have kicked in by now, anyway.”

“And are you sure they haven’t?” Oswald asked with a suggestive once-over of Ed’s composure. “You’re acting…looser than usual.”

“Am I standing too close?” Ed asked, his voice a raspy whisper to avoid the chances of being overheard.

“I could stand to have you closer,” Oswald shot back with a smug grin, one he hid behind the rim of his glass as he took another drink.

“Really?” Ed purred, voice dropping an octave or two, heart skipping in his chest.

Oswald groaned into his drink and rolled his eyes, nudging Ed’s slowly advancing form away with his head. “Not like  _ that,  _ Ed. You know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you really have a one-track mind.”

“It’s just the alcohol,” Ed dismissed with a smile, still taking a step closer so that their arms were touching. “And the abstinence.”

In truth, it hadn’t been as big of a surprise as Ed might have expected when he learned of Oswald’s inexperience — he’d been late to the metaphorical party as well (many might say several years late), but Oswald’s virginity itself was not as surprising as his goody-two-shoes morals. It wasn’t necessarily that the older man was abstaining until marriage, as he’d stressed several times when teased about it by Ed, but that he wanted his first time to be special, especially since he’d finally gotten the man he’d longed for for so long. Apparently, the opportunity to have his “special first time” hadn’t arisen in the past year since he’d been so busy putting bounties out on Nyssa Al Ghul’s head and simultaneously aiding Gotham officials in whatever ways he could to rebuild the bridges.

Ed could admit that it had been one of the busiest years he’d had at Oswald’s side since the mayoral campaign, but he certainly would have put everything aside to arrange a date or whatever it was Oswald needed to make that novel experience as meaningful and memorable as he wanted it to be.

Unfortunately, Ed was never propositioned to do so.

Oswald’s cheeks reddened at the teasing comment, and he glared up at Ed with a pout pulling at his bottom lip. “You  _ know _ why I was—”

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry,” Ed said with a grin, fighting the urge to lean forward and kiss that pitiful expression off of Oswald’s face. “You just make it so easy. The teasing, obviously, not the sex—”

“I get it!” Oswald barked, face scrunching up and blush darkening with embarrassment. When Ed barked out a laugh and nuzzled Oswald’s hair as subtly as he could manage, Oswald’s juvenile pout turned into an exasperated frown. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“I try,” Ed mumbled, voice muffled by Oswald’s perfectly coiffed and aromatic plumage.

“You’d better cut that out if you want to remain inconspicuous. And before I brand you for messing up my hair.”

“Would you be into that?” Ed asked, leaning forward so that his chin was resting on Oswald’s shoulders and his breath was tickling the back of Oswald’s ear.

“Edward!” Oswald snapped again, whirling around and batting Ed’s face away. “Stop before I break this glass!”

“Would we get to reenact that time at my—”

_ “Ed!” _

“Of course, of course,” Ed said with a deep sigh, flicking the tears of mirth from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Oswald. So many years of lighthearted bantering we’ve missed out on — I hope you’ll forgive me for trying to make up for it all at once.”

Oswald groaned and took his place at Ed’s side once more, observing his champagne thoughtfully.

“Of  _ course _ I’ll forgive you, Ed,” he grumbled, his eyes flicking up and nearly choking Ed with the fire and passion he found within. “It’s my fault for keeping you waiting, anyhow.”

“I’d wait five years more if that’s what it took,” Ed swore with a soft grin. “Although I wouldn’t be waiting happily.”

Oswald scoffed and turned his attention back to the television, which was now focusing on the large globe poised to drop as the one-minute countdown began.

The rest of the guests gradually fell silent, their attention redirected as well, and what tidbits of conversation Ed could pick up was mostly concerning the brief shots of exuberant couples the cameramen provided.

As surreptitiously as he could, Ed downed the rest of his drink and slipped away momentarily to set it on a nearby surface, pushing his way back into the middle of their group and taking his place at Oswald’s side — for it  _ was _ his place, he thought, admiring that sharp and gorgeous profile with a tight feeling in his chest. His place was at Oswald’s side, helping him, fighting with him, celebrating with him for years to come. And when the guests joined into the countdown from ten, Ed’s knees began to shake.

_ Ten, nine, eight… _

Oswald’s eyes were shining brighter than Ed had ever seen them. He looked so happy, so filled with life and luster and  _ joy _ that Ed couldn’t look away, couldn’t even bother to join in with the voices surrounding him for the numbness of his lips.

_ Seven, six, five… _

He’d always loved the color of Oswald’s eyes — he doubted he’d seen anything quite like it. From the nearly sickening romance poems he’d taken up reading, he’d learned it was quite common in literature to compare one’s eyes to features of nature — a blue sky, a thick forest, a burning coal — but Ed could think of no element in nature that could come close to the color of Oswald’s eyes. They were like the sea during a storm, but brighter. A glimmering lake in the sun, but bigger. Iridescent gems reflecting precious light, but more valuable.

_ Four, three, two… _

With a sinking feeling, Ed knew the pearl in his pocket could never compare.

_ One. _

And with that feeling, Ed took Oswald’s hands into his and dropped to one knee.

The cheers in the crowd had only just begun when they were cut so pitifully short by that one movement. Oswald seemed to be the slowest to react, glancing down to where Ed held his hands then meeting his eyes with a worried and questioning gaze. Ed knew what thoughts must be going through his head — What are you doing, this is a little risky, are you okay? — but then Oswald’s expression went slack and his eyes went wide and Ed’s stomach seemed to curl in on itself over and over until it became a void inside him.

The air was taut, the tension suffocatingly palpable, and Ed would have spared a glance at the crowd to his left if he felt he could move at all.

The little velvet box in his pocket suddenly felt like a lump of flaming coal, like those eyes of ones cherished by poets he’d read so much about, and he wanted to rip it out and throw into the fire with the rest of the lumber and blazing coals. It was true, no thing on Earth or any planet alike could compare to Oswald’s eyes, and the little pearl in his pocket couldn’t come close. It was with that thought, making his head pound and his heart feel heavy, that he spoke.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—M-Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, and notwithsomanypeople, I mean I-I didn’t—”

“Edward Nygma,” Oswald said, his voice low and icy and chilling to the bone, “if you take this back now I swear on my parents’ graves I will kill you and  _ not _ bring you back.”

Ed’s jaw dropped, his tongue moving uselessly in his mouth, and he was quite positive that he’d gone brain dead at that moment until the little giggles from their female guests brought him back to his nerve-wracking reality.

“Right, of course, right, I’m sorry, um…”

He hadn’t planned anything.

With a fresh wave of dread and vertigo, that horrible truth hit him like a steel bat.  _ He hadn’t planned anything. _ Of all the research and restless nights he spent planning and predicting and scheduling  _ everything, _ he  _ hadn’t written a proposal speech. _ Or had he? If he had, he’d forgotten it entirely, wiped every word and the memory of bringing it into existence from his buzzing and throbbing mind.

His mouth was still moving wordlessly and tears had begun to collect in his eyes when looked up to apologize once more, only to be met with such a warm, compassionate, patient gaze, one painted on what was quite possibly the most beautiful face he’d ever seen, the only face that had ever filled him with absolute joy at every glance, the only face he knew even better than he knew his own. The only face he was sure he loved and was sure loved him back. The only face with a set of eyes so unique and so striking in their unidentifiable glory that Ed almost felt tempted to solve them like a puzzle.

Who needed a proposal speech when one had those eyes to look into?

“Oswald Cobblepot,” Ed began, his voice shaking in his throat and the breath rattling in his chest, “since the moment I met you, you have been the greatest riddle of my life. You are cold and ruthless, but occasionally, humane and compassionate. You are…cunning, but tender. Formidable, but…endearing. You have a strong, sharp mind, but are also in possession of one of the most powerful, aching hearts this city has ever seen. You have loved me when I was your only friend and loved me when I was your worst enemy. You loved me through the torture I made you endure, and still loved me enough to feel like you deserved more pain. It…It is a love my actions do not merit, but one I wish to earn. I want to be by your side wherever I can —  _ whenever _ I can. I want to rule with you, be it over this city or just over your manor. I want to be your partner in crime and virtue, in war and serenity, in pain and pleasure. That is why, my dear Oswald, I am here before you, the smartest man in Gotham on his knees before the most powerful, to ask you the  _ hardest _ question I’ve ever had to. Oswald Cobblepot, King of Gotham and my heart, will you marry me?”

He let go of Oswald’s hands only to pull the ring from his pocket, lifting the lid of it tremulously, his breath aching in his chest.

The gasp that Oswald let out was so sharp that Ed’s head shot up to see if he was in pain — the tears in his eyes weren’t necessarily reassuring. He was about to jump to his feet and ask him what was wrong when he spoke, so softly Ed thought it might have been the wind.

_ “Yes.” _

He blinked. “Y-Yes?”

“Yes, Ed — God, yes,  _ yes,  _ you dimwitted fool!”

Ed frowned. “That’s not very—” he began but choked on the words, his brain reeling with realization.

He said  _ yes. _

Oswald Cobblepot, The Penguin, the horrible gangster Ed carried back to his apartment to care for five years ago, had just listened to Ed’s flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants proposal and said  _ yes. _

In front of a crowd of people.

And all Ed could do was stare.

“Kiss him, Freak!” Barbara barked from the depths of the crowd, rousing her baby who gave a seemingly equally supportive series of cries and blabbering.

“Oh — Right!” Ed gasped, shoving himself to his trembling legs and cupping Oswald’s face in unsteady hands, eyes roving over those sharp features with a newfound reverence, those unearthly eyes blinking up at him languidly. And when his name slipped past those gorgeous lips in a breathy sigh, Ed captured them with his own and pulled Oswald closer by the small of his back.

It seemed such a simple, fluid action, kissing, but with it came a wave of uproarious applause, plus a gruff, shouted, “You lying son of a bitch!” from none other than Harvey. At that, Ed had to break away to laugh, and Oswald hid his face in Ed’s chest.

“I didn’t lie,” he said, finding Harvey’s eyes in the crowd and smiling mischievously.

“Well, you didn’t tell me the truth, either!”

“Oh, please, like it was  _ that _ hard to figure out they were fucking?” Barbara chimed in, checking her nails idly.

A fusillade of berating comments was thrown at her — Jim’s complaint about foul language in front of his daughter being the most audible one — and Ed had to shout over all of it to be heard.

“Not fucking, actually,” he corrected, for which he was punched in the shoulder by Oswald.

“Pengy!” Barbara began, a hand placed to her chest in exaggerated shock. “Don’t tell me you’ve been giving little Eddie here blue balls for  _ this long?” _

“Barbara Kean, how would you like your daughter to grow up motherless?” Oswald growled from the safety of Ed’s chest.

“He has been giving me blue balls, it’s true—” Ed began with a smile, but was punched again.

“Wait, wait! So little killer Penguin is as pure as a Catholic school girl?” Harvey chimed in, seeming to be the most aghast of all the guests. “Did Fish know that?”

“I think the more pressing matter, Harvey,” Lucius interrupted with his trademarked cool, patient tone, “is not Penguin’s virginity—”

“Or abstinence!” Barbara threw in.

“—but rather: Just how  _ long _ has this relationship been going on?”

“Please, it’s been going on since they met,” Selina griped, bumping a smirking Bruce with her hip. “D’you think we can  _ go _ now? You thought Nygma was hiding something and  _ now _ you know what it was.”

“No one’s asking you to stick around!” Oswald cried, waving a hand furiously in the air in a futile attempt to shoo the youngest couple out the door.

“As happy as I am for you two,” Jim spoke up, his face drawn into a vaguely concerned frown, “this makes extra work for me.”

“Don’t make this about you, Jim!” Lee chided, shoving Jim’s shoulder and looking a little too much like a cross mother.

“Yeah,  _ Jim,”  _ Oswald snapped, jerking his beet-red face away from Ed’s chest to stare daggers at the commissioner, “for once in your life, don’t make something about  _ you. _ And, may I ask,  _ how _ does this make more work for you? Are you going to start sending patrol cars to monitor our behavior? Hide a few cameras around my house?”

Jim set his jaw and squared his shoulders. “If needs be, yes.” Lee shoved him again.

“Don’t bother with the bedroom, you won’t be missing anything,” Ed added, and this time Oswald punched him the chest.

“Edward Nygma, teasing me  _ alone _ is humiliating enough—!”

“Ah-ah,” Ed said, catching Oswald’s hands before he could start hitting again, wagging his finger in front of Oswald’s face. “I think it’s Nygma-Cobblepot now, isn’t it?”

If flaunting the fact of their engagement was the new way to get Oswald to shut up, Ed feared the older man might wind up staying quiet for the majority of their relationship, for merely saying their two names linked together like that filled Ed with such a sense of completion he thought he might explode.

“Right,” Oswald mumbled, lowering his eyes and nuzzling his face against Ed’s chest again,  _ “Nygma-Cobblepot.” _

“That’s exhausting to say,” Selina complained, crossing her arms. “Shorten it a little bit, why don’t you? Like… _ Nygmobblepot _ or something.”

Oswald gripped Ed’s suit in his fists and drew away to glare at the teenager. “What an absolutely  _ hideous _ name.”

From the crimson coloring on Oswald’s cheeks, Ed thought it might catch on.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "New Year's Day" by Pentatonix
> 
> Did that ending give you lactose intolerance? It sure as hell gave it to me. Comments are my _life source_ and I keep each and every one of them in my heart! Want to tell me you cried? I'll cry with you! Think something should be changed/fixed? I'll listen! Think it sucked? I'll still read it!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


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